


One Candlelit Dinner, 500ml Dry

by EmeliaK



Category: BanG Dream! (Anime), BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, a good bit of feeling up when you're down, alternative title: Misaki Cuts Loose as All Hell, but nothing really squeamish, in that way that makes sense when you think about it quietly enough, kind of, mocamisa: a couple about nothing, snarky hazy ironic romance, there's some bits of playing on the edge, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17281040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeliaK/pseuds/EmeliaK
Summary: Are Misaki and Moca really alright in the same room? Pretty clearly kind of maybe, in a way, more or less sort of-ish, but they do sure as hell get along.(An irreverent indoors date, in only the way two people who aren't quite full inside could do it.)





	One Candlelit Dinner, 500ml Dry

**Author's Note:**

> (Very T. Not quite M. A little bit of spice towards the back end. Have fun!)

"..."

"..."

"This is a real nice candlelit dinner."

"Oh, wow, I was literally about to say the exact same thing."

"Jiiinx."

Both Misaki and Moca reckon that anyone seeing them spar against each other over a daintily set table for two would find it surreal, and the light smokiness to the air that drifts in a lazy vortex around them definitely heightens the whole liminality of the situation.

"Sure, sure, whatever."

Misaki looks _bored_ , but in her Misaki-brand 'I'm standing here and I'm pitching balls and I don't expect anyone to notice or appreciate me doing it' way. She's ready to respond to everything. She's the machine gun on tap here. Aoba's rate of fire is peanuts from a blowgun compared to Misaki's slick 'n' greasy elocutive powers, and tonight, in the cage match of the century, nobody's in Misaki's _fucking_ way.

Moca looks Moca. Damn well Moca as ever with her head rested on her hands rested on the table. Instead of a stare through blindingly opaque glasses, though, her resting face is a little bit of  _her s_ _mirk_. That's the Moca difference.

"No, Misachin, the point is you don't say stuff when you're jinxed, 'cause I gotta say your name..."

"Aaaand you just did, like, really weirdly, but you totally just did."

"But you broke it before I did, sooooo."

"You know what else they say in the west? Elbows off the table." But hey, Misaki hasn't been heeding that herself; staring each other dead in the eyes over a table like they're psychically grappling with their minds? _That's_  romance. _That's_ worth more than any table etiquette.

They're not in a restaurant, by the way, because no way in hell would a single soul in the city let them get away with this shit non-stop in a prime dining establishment.

Nah, they're at Moca's house, because the little brat's rents (Moca's words) are out on _their_  own candlelit dinner somewhere in the great urban wilderness. Leave the chandeliers and fine dine 'n' wining or whatever to them. Misaki and Moca are A-OK sitting their asses on the world's most faux 19th century wooden dining chairs (Misaki's words; Moca physically can't say that many at once). The room's transcendent atmosphere is at its height with Moca's incense burner, which got gifted to her by Tsugu in a Secret Santa a few years back because "it just seemed kind of right, you know? Imagining you in a room with that?", which Moca totally gets even though she didn't actually have any reason to bother using it until now - this time she felt like it'd be good to try a little hard, and it really is the perfect moodsetter for two people who _just_  don't _care_.

...

Oh, right,

they've got steak. They didn't bother making anything else. It's an _ironic_  romantic dinner. They even have wine glasses and a corkscrew to sell the look to nobody but themselves.

"Shouldn't we be eaaaatiiiing? Hhwwwoooooh."

"That's an awful ghost impression. Hey. Look up. If you stare at your steak for any longer and not at me then it's my win."

Moca shrinks into her chair forlornly. "You're taking out your frustration on me, Captain Okusawa. I wanna file a complaint to the Maritime Department..."

"You lose, Private Aoba." Misaki waves the moment off with a tired hand. "Let's eat already."

"Aye aye."

Misaki pokes her fork into her steak, and pauses thoughtfully. "Where's the knives."

"Oh... I didn't get them out." Tehe, bonk, pero.

"You know what - _I'll_  go for them then. Where are they?"

"Innnnn a cupboard."

"Aoba, please be more specific or I'm going to have to search through every single place in your kitchen and I really don't wanna have to be bothered to do that like at all?"

"Fine, I'll get them with you..."

"Sounds like a date."

They heft themselves up. Misaki leads the vanguard, with Moca right behind doing her best slouching moody teen impression (it's so good because she's a slouchy moody teen).

The kitchen door opens and closes. Wisps of smoke are cut apart at the doorframe.

 

Twenty seconds later, the kitchen door opens again, and they're one knife to one person - the fairest arrangement, although Misaki was willing to take both and watch Moca slobber pathetically at her steak 'like a rabid dog at half the playback speed'.

Eh, whatever, missed opportunity. They set themselves back down.

"That went without incident."

"I'm a walking incident, girrrrl."

"Are we gonna knife-fight, Aoba? Let's don't actually because bleeding out and dying sucks."

"I mean... I guess I agree?"

"Glad we could come to terms." Misaki finally gets to cut off the first piece of her steak.

Misaki _tries_. Moca's trying less.

"These knives fucking suck, Aoba? You took them out and I looked at them and thought they looked butterknifey as hell but assumed you picked them for a reason?"

"Pranked."

"You dumbass. I'd like to eat this steak, not rub a piece of metal against it for half an hour."

"I thought it'd be fun to watch you until, like, you finally cut into it somehow, or something..."

Misaki stares blankly at Moca. Deathly unflinchingly. Pressure levels rising...

"Aah, so ungrateful you are, Misachin. Moca here'll get the nice an' fancy serrated ones just for you..."

"Please do and thank you." Misaki folds her arms, closes her eyes and leans back to let Moca swipe the shitty knives off the table.

 

She opens her eyes again once she's heard the kitchen door go twice. Moca's doing a mock stabbing pose over her.

"Oh thank god, my murderer is a silver emo rocker girl and not some tiny kid who pushes me off a pier into the deep salty sea while I'm garbed as Michelle."

Moca brings the knife back down. "That's specific as hell, Misachin."

"I dream it every night. Every night, every night, every night."

"You dream about me stabbing you? _Hotttt._ "

"Fuck, I'll take it over my dumb bear mascot costume becoming my waterlogged chamber of a live burial at sea."

"Wait, you actually dreamt this?"

"Once, a bit after I started the original job, way before the band, and I just remember that part super vividly." Misaki spitefully carves off the corner of her steak in a single masterful stroke.

No blood. Only slightly pink in the centre. Her existence is one long sigh and she's in the middle of it.

"You froze up. Alright there?" comes Moca's muffly voice. She's already got her mouth around a chunk of _her_ steak.

"Oh, no. Just, uh. Mine isn't bleeding."

"You wanna knife-fight it?"

"You're right, Aoba, you're an extremely walking incident. But, uh, no, this one's on me 'cause I left it in the pan too long."

"Wasn't I the one cooking them, though?"

"I blame myself for not being vigilant over you. Gotta remember steak's the one thing better undercooked than over."

 _Harsh judgement. In one of Moca's dreams she got Michelin stars, you know._ "But I'm fine with mine medium..."

Oh, goddamn. "You could say that's kind of rare." God _damn_. "Actually now that I've said that please shoot me in the face with a gun instantly."

Moca gets pretty discombobulated by the lecture-judgement-pun-apology combo, but only for a moment before she's back. "Bang."

"Thanks. Now let's eat."

...for a quiet while, they bite and chew.

 

"You know," Moca pipes up suddenly to ruin the sardonically soothing atmosphere, "some bread would go great with this, in Moca's expert reckonings..."

"I don't know how far your house is from the Yamabukis, but the Yamabukis are also probably shut for the day."

"We don't have anything in the cupboards, even... I checked earlier before you came over."

"That's touching of you, Aoba. You're perfectly welcome to chew on Michelle's lining afterwards to refresh yourself or something."

"Did you bring Michelle? I love Michelle." The fact Moca knows how to summon a glitter to her eye on demand is worrying. "Love that funky bear... and its funky tricks."

"If I did, I guarantee you I'd have been spotted by a neighbourhood dog and then mauled to death. Or the band would've seen me and mauled me to death. Either way I'd be mauled to death."

"Lotta mauling and dying going on in your imagination, Misachin..."

"Bears are a species of survival. Tooth-and-claw stuff. 's only natural."

"Bold of ya to label yourself a bear. I'm gonna need to see the goods to back that up..."

Misaki lightly kicks Moca underneath the table. Five seconds' pause passes before Moca kicks back.

Kickfight!

Both of them start snorting in laughter up top as it's happening, which eventually brings the showdown to a natural halt.

Misaki's face has now glowed for the first time tonight, so score one for the home team, she guesses. "I... phfff... I am not showing you 'the goods' after _this_ display of a steak dinner."

"I'll totally make a late-night run for two more of the things, okaaay? But only 'cause you're worth it, girl."

"Ahhh..." Been a long time since Misaki got to laugh like that. It's draining out of her now, but leaving a warm afterglow (haha, zing, but that's not getting one inch past her lips) in its wake.

Rosy-cheeked and back to business. "...wow, I'm worth four whole steaks before I lay my dignity bare to be torn to shreds. I probably don't even _want_ another one after this, Aoba, do we seriously not have anything else for us other than the steaks?"

"Ahaaaahahaha. Moca the Villain has been waiting for this. Moca the Villain has a special concoction prepared, and now you witness Moca the Villain put her finely crafted sequence into execution."

"Okay, out with the goods, but I'm not calling you that dumb name. No sell."

Moca leans one arm on the tabletop for support, and reaches underneath with the other. Then she starts straining to pull something off the underside.

Still straining.

Still straining.

Okay, Misaki looks under. It's a slightly petite wine bottle duct-taped to the roof of the table.

...

"Uh. Sorry." Misaki sits back up straight, eyes trained on the side of the torso of poor Moca, whose fist trembles and arm shakes in sync with the "gneeeeeergh"ing and disgruntled panting coming from that dark realm below their plates.

It takes not that long afterwards for Moca to give up, though, and the moment she swings back upright, Misaki's patient gaze grabs for her throat and Moca's  _survival instincts_ make her look the hell away to the side.

"Uuhhhh. I should have rehearsed that beforehand."

"That bottle looked like a nice white. I get the feeling you'd've ripped off half the table along with if you'd forced it hard enough."

"Yeah, I'm gonna go and get some scissors..." Moca moves to get up.

Goddamn, she may as well do this. "Wait. Look at me."

Aoba Moca does, nervously, mouth trembling half-open.

"Yeah...?"

And very nonchalantly, just for a few seconds, Misaki opens her own mouth, and hooks one finger into the side to fully expose the two incredibly fanged canines she has midway back.

Just...

for a few seconds. She lets go, purses and quickly licks her lips, and then utters her seven magical words. "I hope you don't mind puncture marks."

Aoba Moca doesn't at all, and nervously, she closes her trembling mouth

and gulps. "Sci-scissors, I'm gonna, uh, and then wine."

 

Aoba Moca's back to normal once she's gone in and out of the kitchen. She's allowed to skip a beat or two; she's a freewheeling soloist.

"I'm a freewheeling soloist, you know, Misachin," Moca states matter-of-factly as she seats herself back in the chair and reaches under with both arms, one grasped on the neck of the bottle and the other working the scissors through the tape.

"Uh-huh." Snip, snip.

"I'm allowed to skip a beat or two." The snipping fails for a moment, the scissors presumably twisting flat against the tape, because Moca's expresion briefly twists as well. The snips then resume.

"...Uh-huh." Misaki hears the bottle come free from the tearing tape. The sloshing wails. It wails to her so unmistakably tortured. "That bottle's waited long enough. Thank god we laid out these glasses, 'cause if you had to get up again, I would've contemplated shackling you to that chair for the rest of the meal."

"One more dommy kinda statement like that and I ain't pouring your glass, Misachin..."

"'pologies." Misaki waves it off. She wants her glass.

"Accepted." Moca can absolutely be a top dog too; she's just gotta wanna _act_  like it, and right now more than ever does she as hell want to. She picks up the corkscrew. It's the simple T-shaped handlebar kind.

Holy shit, how does Moca use a corkscrew? Misaki raises an eyebrow.

"Gonna make a read on how you stopped there, Aoba. Give me the bottle and screw so we can drop this farce and pick it back up once we've got some drink down us."

"I'm not that easy an opponent, Misachiiiin. Tell me how to do it."

"You bought a bottle and didn't even think about how to open it. Did you just think 'oh, yeah, our house has a corkscrew, that solves that' and stop there? Because that's what _I_ think you think."

"I'm asking the internet how to do it."

In a flash while Moca's pulling her phone out, Misaki reaches across and _swipes_ the bottle and corkscrew from the pale hand that knows not.

"Ruuuude!"

More deftly than Moca (or probably, jeez, anyone in the Aoba household) could ever hope to, Misaki stabs the screw in and sheaths it with her other hand, spins it briefly downwards, moves her other hand to the neck, vigorously wriggles the cork and pops it out. The good stuff first hits her glass, then Moca's.

"Cheers," Misaki drops bluntly _before_ picking up her glass and holding it for a genuine, sarcastic toast.

Moca folds her arms and flops back into her seat for a moment, staring judgementally and yet as though finding something hard to process, then finally responds by delicately (confidently!) raising her own glass from the table to bump against Misaki's.

The dull ring of weightlessly-hearted cynics in arms.

"Cheeeeers."

Misaki takes one careful sip, and then it's pretty much straight down the hatch. Moca's more careful, taking two spaced gulps before placing hers back down to turn her attention to her somewhat-neglected steak.

"Hup." A 500ml bottle still isn't as light as you'd think.

"Isn't it rude to pour yourself a second glass without sayin'?"

"Fight me, Aoba. Cram your whole fist in my mouth if that's what it takes to stop me."

"Yeah, I'm just gonna, uh..." Her medium-not-rare's surprisingly still pretty warm. "I'hm jupht gonha eaph thiph an'--" Chew, swallow. "--an' leave you for after, 'kay?"

"Works for me."

And the steaks _do_ go by all the better for the wine.

 

The room feels a little smokier once Moca's done. Hazier. The atmosphere settling and permeating their senses, degrading depth of vision to the table and its party of two, and what feels like merely an impression of the room around them.

"Slow eater, huh?"

"I think inhaling and swallowing should be kept distinct.

"Textin' Tomo right now. 'She said "inhaling" and "swallowing" in the same sentence'... boom."

"Did you really just?"

"Nah. If I wanted to get the most, like, sublimely funny rise, I'd get it outta Ran."

Moca's plate is empty, clean, polished off. 'cept for the steak juices, sure, but she's not gonna pick up the plate and slurp those up in front of her fine companion upon this occasion. Still got either... three or four bites left, Moca reckons on Misaki's steak. Bookie here's closin' noooow, getcha final bets in.

"Why are you looking so hard at my plate? Do you want mine? At this point you can have it."

"Nooope. You'll ruin all my odds if you do that."

"Who's gambling on who here?"

Misaki flips up the last portion of her steak sideways and carves it through the centre, producing two half-as-thick cuts.

"What."

"What, Aoba?"

"Never seen anyone do that before..."

"I just did it one day and it stuck, because it lets me, uh, savour the last parts for twice as long or something. See, double the, uh, thing."

"Shit. My books..." Moca's not making bank for the kids back home today... Himari's gonna hafta go hungry another night... Tomoe's gonna start gnawing on her own knuckles...

"My dining experience is not a sport, Aoba. Let me eat this stupid meat in peace. Unless you want it _now_."

"Fine, I'll take half." Moca holds up her plate towards Misaki's side.

"Put that down, and I'll just feed you. If you eat at your own pace you're gonna finish before me again and then, like, ask for half of what I have left again. And it'll keep going. The tortoise paradox or whatever, that deal."

"Feed me?"

"Yep."

There are a multitude of ways Moca could respond here, really, but when her mild sense of pride as the person who _doesn't_ get walked all over in her band finally rears itself, she snatches her fork, imposes herself over the entire table, and stabs at two of the pieces Misaki's cut off.

Her smirk curls, and her eyes intensify. "Gonna hafta refuse, Misachin."

"Finally found your spine again, Aoba? You've just been blocking hits on the ropes all evening. You misfired earlier. Look, I was beginning to wonder where you even got your trickster god rep from."

"Hey, I like to chillax when I can. I don't bully everyone I see, and I certainly ain't whips an' chains by nature~. Not like you~." Moca lets that one trail off into the lowest pitches of her voice, where it crackles away into oblivion and leaves behind a faint taste of accusation in the atmosphere, and then Moca removes herself from the table's airspace and seats herself back smugly, twirling her fork.

Misaki taps her finger against her knife for a bit. "Question."

"Mm?" Moca's pulled off the first piece by her teeth, and the side of her mouth is currently working on it.

"When we decided to do this? I know it was super snap, so why'd you immediately suggest your place, is what I'm wondering."

"Oho?"

"I've got a house too. I sit in it a bunch. It's a good place. But you just immediately went for here."

"Yeah, I getcha... but, like, I guess my home means _my turf_." She swallows. "An' I know what I can get away with on my turf."

"Aw, that's not encouraging language, fuck me. I'm in a trap, aren't I. I'm ensnared."

"Hey, this room don't have locks. My, uh, my bedroom does, if you catch me here..." Moca spins her hands in circles, vaguely illustratively. "The drift a' my reasoning..."

"To lock people out? Locks only means captivity if I get locked _in_." Misaki begins to go through the rest of her share of the steak.

"Aw, shaddup, you get the vibe. I don't even, like, use the lock ever, so don't blame me for not thinkin' about it hard enough..."

"You haven't thought about a lot of things very hard, Aoba, tonight."

"Don't tend to." Moca's face plays coy so naturally, but so fucking intensely that Misaki raises both eyebrows at what, at first glance, looks like someone plotting something, which is kind of ironic.

And finally, for the absolute first time tonight, Moca has forced her to spend longer than a single instant considering her response, which means she automatically drops the ball and initiates her silent resignation subroutine.

_I mean._

It's not like Aoba really kinda owned her as such. Just wound the conversation a little too obtusely for her to keep up.

Still a loss, though.

She focuses forlornly on the few slices of moderately well-cooked meat left; they're all that stand between her and the great after-dinner beyond. _Oh, wait, hey, that sounds like a void. If staring into voids isn't my thing, nothing is._

 

The air has hung, settled, thick around them once Misaki's finally finished (and finished the bottle with one last glass while she's at it), and Moca pokes out of the kitchen door to grab Misaki's plate too.

"No, Aoba, it's fine, lemme do the--"

"Ain't happenin'. Mosey yourself on up to my room. Find my, uh, illicit print media, and then I'll walk in while you're at it, huh?"

"Like you own any. Except wait, probably you do."

"Hell yeaaaah. But yeah, I left my door open. Gun for it, girl, an' I'll be up once I'm done here~." A trace of the haze slips through to follow Moca into the kitchen as she closes its door behind her, leaving Misaki to fend her way through one room's worth of poor visibility conditions.

Incense was probably an aphrodisiac scent or whatever, Misaki briefly imagines. Is incense even meant to be this heavy? If anyone has their hands on stuff like that that actually works, it's probably gonna be the wildcard who does.

The time has come to sally forth. Misaki is very steady on her feet, she's extremely steady, she's so steady, and nobody's there to tell her otherwise. Two thirds of a tiny bottle? That's nothing, c'mon.

...not like she ever really has to walk by herself the past few times she's drunk, though. Kaoru's always ready to hook one arm behind her back, or she's gone and changed back into Michelle, who's been on a fucking bathroom break or whatever, in which case it doesn't count because it's _Michelle_ falling over. ("Can bears even get drunk?" Kokoro wonders. "My, surely even our ursine friends are no strangers to Dionysus!--" God, fuck no, she's done imagining her fucking band for the night. She's here to unwind in an entirely different world where she _doesn't_ have to say hello and be happy.)

The landing is very not smoky. Should keep the living room door open to get some new air circulating the heck in.

Misaki crawls up the stairs on all fours. Hahaaaaaaa. Rooooound the beeeeeeeend and wow okay this is a corridor. Open door, open door...

 

Moca's washed up the dishes, wiped the table clean, taken down the incense burner (and made a memo for any of her potential future dinners: don't burn the entire bundle at once, there's a reason the base only fits one stick and the rest kind of sat around it),

annnd now in her room she finds Misaki sprawled out on the side of her bed, dishevelled and looking halfway to a peaceful passing.

Anyone else would just let go of their motives and let her be. Cover her up properly and snuggle up to her side, until the morning comes and she's nursing the weight in her head that seems to pound on whichever side is facing down. The big wholesome.

But Moca wants her fucking _teeth_. "Pssst. Misachin."

Radio silence.

"Misakiiii."

No, she's out colder than that. Moca moves in - Misaki's got one leg hanging off, and is kind of on her side facing the door, so Moca rolls her flat on her back - and stomps down regally on her chest, with not enough force to break her ribs but _definitely_ enough to make her body want to wake up--

"Geugh..." She rolls away on her side to face the wall. "Jesus, Aoba..."

"I'd want you to do the same for me, or somethin', right?"

"I'm so fucked. If we do the whole sex thing right now I'm going to end up just slobbering everywhere and maybe crying on your shoulder."

"Messy-style. I can dig it, Misachin. Don't underestimate how awful of a person Queen Moca is, huh~?"

"Fuck you and your throne..." Misaki makes one pass at sitting upright but doesn't get halfway up, then succeeds on her second one, and swivels round. She forces her eyes wide open, and to Moca, they look like they have the focus of a corpse, but still brilliantly encompass the universe, the stars and whatever bullshit Misaki has to think of at the moment. Helps they're the same colour as gorgeous old Moca's. "Come here. Get your stupid fuckin'... boxers or whatever off. Leave the shirt."

Both of them take a good few moments to get their lower garments rid; Moca as part of natural course, and Misaki from trying to shuffle them off her while she's still seated ass-deep in the bedsheets.

Then they stare at each other, half-naked the wrong way round, and for some reason which both of them twig at once, they crack up a little,

basking in a light, transient moment that passes through them and melts away after a few seconds.

Then Moca moves in, and once she's got one leg kneeling on the bed,

so does Misaki, right for Moca's pale, barely-exposed shoulder--

"Ssssss. Damn, really is a bite... hope you didn't get steak in my bloodstream, girl."

This makes Misaki snort directly into Moca's shoulder, and she wrenches herself out of the bite, drawing a trail of saliva over with her that droops down Moca's shirt and across her legs.

"Pfhph... okay, yeah, fair point in a way. Got a glass of water anywhere?"

"Wash your mouth out in the bathroom?"

"Works. Oh, fuck, woah, holy shit. Okay, Aoba, help me up over there?"

Moca pulls Misaki up with both arms. "Y'know, Misachin? I think you can start callin' me Moca now."

"Only if you call me Misa _ki_." She staggers a little before striding forth, with Moca holding onto one of her hands because the only support she needs right now is moral.

"I already did, once, but then I realised I had to kick you awake..."

"Well, fuck me, then. Missed that window. I'll stick with Aoba until the next time you ask, which hopefully will be never."

Moca hums in response. "Hey, we're heeere."

"I know what a bathroom is, Aoba." Misaki stares at the taps on the sink for a couple seconds. Moca's benevolent enough not to snark at her about figuring them out, and in any case, it only takes a second later for Misaki to turn the hot one on and rinse out a couple mouthfuls before it gets too hot and she settles for that much. Moca snatches a handful of water, gargles it, and after figuring she's not soulless enough to spit it in the bathtub, swallows it.

"..." Staring down into the sink, feeling comfortably miserable in the companionship of someone who keeps pace with her in all the same messy directions, Misaki is doing alright. Real-as-hell alright. "Wanna go here?"

"Everything in here is cold and sucks, Misachin. I can go for it against a toilet basin... but my bed is waaaaarm. My beeeeeedddd."

"Fine. Taken." They start the necessary trip back.

"Also, your ass is kinda okay?"

"I don't think you have _any_  ass, Aoba."

"Liar."

"Yeah, I'm actually lying as hell. You're decent. Seriously, what gives you the right? I'll go for that knife-fight after all."

"We just got back into my room an' now you wanna go aaaaall the way down for the knives."

"Totally figured you would've had knives in your room or something. You're the type who could have a collection of fuckin' anything in their room."

"Aw, shaddup. You got knives in there -" Moca yanks on the side of Misaki's mouth - "and that's good enough for me."

Spinning around on Moca's sudden grip, Misaki falls backwards onto Moca's soft, soft, completely overindulgent bed once again. Really, it's way more something you fall 'into' with how goddamn plush it is...

Nice ceiling. "I've got my knives. Where're yours?"

"You wanna get bit, Misachin? _Kinkyyyy_." Moca gets herself situated on top of Misaki, replacing her view of that nice ceiling.

"Biting's not your style, or what?"

Moca looks down at her nails on either side, short but nicely ragged on the edges. "I'm a little bit more, uh? _Handsy._ " There's no way she sounded cool saying that, which is perfect.

"Works for me."

"How many times've you said that tonight? C'mon." Moca gets in closer, down on her elbows now.

"Huh. Less than I usually do." Misaki seems slightly genuinely surprised by that.

"Guess I'm a little more obstructive." And Moca touches down, but her full weight is put halfway between Misaki and the bedding beside her.

"Aoba? You're a wimp, and you already stepped on my chest, so I don't care about you lying on me."

"I'm _compassionate_ , Misachin. It's in my index of character traits."

"...yeah, you know what? You can have that. Good kid, Aoba."

"Mmm."

While it's a little torturous, there's something casually comforting about lying lopsidedly like this,

waiting through the long pause, which hangs and drifts in the air, enveloping them like the smoke did.

Eventually, Moca responds.

"You're a good kid too, Misachin."

Misaki reaches the arm that isn't being laid on around Moca's back, and with the heft of someone who has to lift grown ass people while in a big pink bear costume, she rolls the both of them over, so Moca's the one staring up at Misaki now.

"There. Way easier to get at you now. We're good kids doing bad things."

"Hell yeah. Alright, count a' three. One, two--"

And once Misaki has Moca pinned down, clipping the timing of that "three" just a bit too early, they wrap themselves up in each other,

themselves binding like the smoke, although they're a _little_ more alive than that.

**Author's Note:**

> "...Huh. When was the last time you had to change your bedsheets after getting blood on them?"
> 
> (heya! i read [today, too, your smiling face will save me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053520) a couple of days ago and went "wait, this really /is/ the only mocamisa fic under the tag" and then remembered i'd already started writing one a couple days before that. Misaki and Moca especially are characters i can vibe pretty well, so this kind of really felt like a foregone conclusion that i only finally decided to get around to now. hope you enjoyed!)
> 
> "That doesn't usually make me change 'em..."


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